Chimera's Call
by Murron eretria
Summary: Just after New Year, the world seems to be all right for the trio in a snow-covered Hogwarts. But is it really? Mischief is a pleasing thing after all ... Or is there more to it? (NO Voldemort included)
1. Chapter 1

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Chimera's Call

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Murron & eretria

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Rating: PG - 13

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Category: Angst/friendship/ little tingles

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Characters: Hermione, Ron, Harry (with special malicious appearance by Draco & friends :o))

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Timeframe: Hogwart's School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, 5th year 

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Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story belong solely to J.K. Rowling. We only borrow what has become most dear to us. This story was written for entertainment purposes only. No money is gained and no copyright infringement is intended.

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Summary: Just after New Year, the world seems to be all right for the trio in a snow-covered Hogwarts. But is it really? Or is there more to it? Mischief is a pleasing thing after all ... (NO Voldemort included)

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Feedback: Is better than Quidditch. If you feel like it, please leave it here or send it to sgeulaiche@web.de

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Archive: fanfiction.net, http://www.midnight-tea.de, all others – please ask. 

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A/N: Loads of thanks go to our creative back-up team: _Baylor_, _s1ncer1ty_ & _valonia_. Thank you, dearies, for tireless beta-ing, supporting, encouraging and simply being there. You've truly been the guarding muses behind our quill. 

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Murron also wants to say thank you for a partnership that never runs out of inspiration and ever pushes story-creating to higher levels. 

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Eretria says thank you to Murron for being the guardian of her sanity during her bar exam. No me without you.

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Chimera's Call

The wild winds weep,

And the night is a-cold;

Come hither, sleep,

And my grieves enfold!

(William Blake)

~*~

Snow had fallen all New Year's night long, and covered Hogsmeade with a soft, white blanket that hushed the students' steps. The air was clear and crisp, and an almost impossibly blue sky spanned over their heads.

Ron, Harry and Hermione hurried through the streets of Hogsmeade, coming from Honeydukes, their bags and pockets filled to the brink with more sweets than they could possibly eat in half a year. It didn't matter, though, just picking them had been fun enough.

"I still don't trust the stuff Fred and George gave me for Christmas," Ron said, his voice muffled by the scarf he had pulled almost up to his nose. "It looks delicious, but . . ."

"Having lived under one roof with them for only four years now, I would give you the advice not to eat it," Harry chimed in, remembering with a shudder the last time he had accepted something from Fred and George. It had not exactly been pleasant.

"Imagine how it is living with them all your life!" Harry could see Ron's eyebrows knit under the hem of his cap, and knew with a certainty that Ron was thinking along a very similar line as he was.

"I wonder what my parents would say if they saw us carrying all that." Hermione grinned. Her nose was bright red and her eyes glittered mischievously. She patted the bag with chocolates lovingly and added: "Sometimes, being away from home has quite a lot of merits."

Ron stopped dead in his tracks and made a low, wheezing noise. Both Harry and Hermione turned immediately, casting worried glances at their companion.

"You all right, Ron?"

"She . . ." He pointed at Hermione with a gloved hand. "She said it!" He drew a deep, overly dramatic breath. "You heard that, too, Harry, didn't you?"

Oh. So this was where this was going. Harry folded his arms in front of him and stepped back, getting out of the line of fire before he nodded, hiding a wide smile in his yellow and red scarf.

"Heard what?" Hermione asked, looking from Harry to Ron, bewildered. "What did I say?"

Ron pushed the scarf away from his mouth, showing that an overly large grin was plastered on his face. "Perfect Miss Granger has just admitted that there are rules meant to be broken? Be still, my heart! Harry, remind me to mark this day in my calendar. With bright, red --"

SWOOSH.

Ron never finished the sentence. Before Harry could do so much as blink, Hermione had dropped the bag, had taken off her gloves and had formed the biggest snowball Harry had ever seen. A snowball that landed directly in the middle of Ronald Weasley's grinning face.

"Oi!" he sputtered around a mouthful of snow. "You . . . Hermione!"

It didn't happen all too often that Ron was caught off his guard. Harry had learned early that in the Weasley family, you had better be careful, unless you wanted a well-meant, but completely unpleasant, surprise. At Hogwarts, Ron had always considered himself relatively safe, Harry knew. And both Fred and George were in the pub, enjoying their butterbeer with the rest of the students who hadn't gone home for Christmas, so there shouldn't have been anything to worry about.

Good to know you were never safe, anywhere. Harry cringed at his train of thought and tried his best to concentrate on what was going on in front of him, forgetting the implications this thought brought.

"Be still, my heart?" Hermione echoed sweetly. It was the kind of voice that made Harry's hair stand on edge, and he was glad it wasn't directed at him. "Looks more like 'Be still, my mouth' to me." Hermione had stepped on the mock war-path. He could see the glint in her eyes.

Ron still goggled at her, trying to understand what had just happened. She had hit him with a snowball. Right in the middle of his face?! And she was insulting him?

Things clicked visibly into place. Ron dropped his bag as well and narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

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'Uh-oh,' Harry thought. If Hermione had any sense at all, she'd run now.

If it was possible, Hermione's eyes twinkled even more. "Try your worst," she challenged. 

Harry shot a glance that was half amusement and half anxiety in Ron's direction.

Ron didn't need telling twice.

Within seconds, the air was filled with flying snowballs, and Harry had a hard time dodging some of the poorly aimed ones.

The score Hermione had wasn't too bad, he noticed. Even though Ron had taken up Quidditch practice for Gryffindor this year and far surpassed her throwing skills, she made it up by being smaller and more agile than his larger body.

"Come on, Hermione! Show him!"

Another snowball hit Ron, knocking the cap from his head. Clear laughter drifted over the snowy hills around Hogsmeade. It was a strange contrast to the gleaming white snow, this mop of fiery red hair. Before Harry could give Hermione an enthusiastic thumbs-up for the hit, something white and cold came flying in his direction, hitting him in the stomach.

"Where _are_ your loyalties, Harry?!" Ron called over to him, scowling fiercely.

"What loyalties?" Harry replied. "You're both my best friends, so how can I . . ."

A thought formed in his mind. He quickly pulled off his gloves and --

Was hit by twin snowballs, before he could even do so much as arm himself against the onslaught of flying white spheres. "At him!"

Harry Potter's world drowned in snow. 

***

By the time they had finally agreed on a truce, each one of them had gotten their turn at being the victim. First, it had been Harry attacked by both Ron and Hermione. Then Ron was on the receiving end. But Hermione certainly got the raw deal out of it. She lost her cap and her scarf in the tumble, snow was pushed into her cloak, and both boys had taken great delight in washing her face thoroughly with snow. As she struggled to break free, they held tight to her squirming body and lifted her effortlessly and dipped her remove comma face-forward into the snow. Harry was still surprised that her squeals and protesting screams hadn't woken every dead wizard in the perimeter of a hundred miles.

She gave up then, her hair hanging wet around her face, her nose even redder then before, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of indignation and excitement.

"Th-that was not f-fair, you t-two," she protested, her teeth chattering rhythmically.

Harry and Ron beamed at her. "No, it wasn't. But you started it, remember?" the dark-haired boy quipped.

Hermione shot Ron a look which lost a lot of its impact when she sneezed loudly.

She searched her pockets for a handkerchief, then sighed. "Just my luck. Wet as a cat and not even a handkerchief with me."

Harry searched the pocket of his robes and came up with a fresh one. "Thank you." Hermione sneezed.

Both boys exchanged a quick, knowing look. "I reckon you should get back to the tower, Hermione, or you'll catch cold," Ron said carefully.

"Oh, really?" She let out a sarcastic snort. "Who would've thought?"

Harry grinned while Ron harrumphed indignantly. "Just trying to be helpful."

"Ron's right, though," Harry joined in. "I don't think Madam Pomfrey would like another student with a flu in the infirmary, especially since she'd have to leave the birthday party for it."

"What about you?" Hermione said, pointing towards red and black hair that was just as wet as hers.

"We'll be fine, don't worry."

"Oh, so you two _won't_ catch cold?"

"No," both Harry and Ron said in perfect synchronisation. 

"Besides," Ron continued, "we really have to see what Fred and George are up to down at the Three Broomsticks. Wouldn't want people to get hurt."

Hermione raised both eyebrows, and again the attempt of looking disapproving was ruined by a sneeze.

"We'll walk you to Honeydukes, prepare a diversion and you can take the shortcut back to Hogwarts," Harry said.

"How awfully kind of you," she said loftily.

Harry and Ron graced her with their most winning smiles. 

***

When the diversion was prepared and Hermione had almost disappeared in the tunnel, she called out to them one last time: "Don't you have too much fun without me!"

"Would we _ever_?"

They didn't even get an answer. The only thing that reached their ears was a tremendous sneeze, which somehow managed to sound sarcastic. 

***

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TBC


	2. Chapter 2

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~ Chimera's Call ~

Chapter 2

The good thing was that Hogwarts was nearly vacant, so no one saw her shuffling up the stairs like some half-drowned version of a sheepdog. The high vaults of the castle echoed from the squelching of her wet steps and Hermione could only hope that Mrs. Norris wouldn't be anywhere near. The thought of scrubbing the corridors instead of having a steaming cup of tea was far from pleasing. 

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'That's what you get when sharing such company,' she thought. Detention seemed to stick to Harry and Ron like a second shadow, and so naturally it stuck to Hermione, as well. Since she befriended those two scoundrels she'd been constantly in and out of trouble -- and wasn't she ever so glad about it. A wide grin spread over Hermione's flushing-red face as she hastened up the last few steps to the portrait-hole. The Fat Lady glared rather disapprovingly down at her, taking in her soaked coat and dishevelled hair. 

"I've expected a little more from you at least, Miss Granger," she sniffed. "I never thought you one of those . . . yobs." 

"Sometimes a girl needs a little fun," Hermione prompted and shot a brilliant smile up to the Lady, secretly quite surprised at her own boldness. She did not at all know what had gotten into her today, but she felt rather . . . daring. 

The Fat Lady's face darkened considerably as she apparently lost all interest in conversation. "Password?"

"Chocolate Parfait." 

The portrait swung open and the Fat Lady moved into the farthest corner of the canvas to prevent contact with a dripping Hermione. The girl ducked her head as she passed the painting, still not able to make the grin vanish from her face. 

The gentle heat of a crackling fire welcomed her in the Gryffindor common room and the sudden warmth made her even more conscious of her own coldness. The gentle heat of a crackling fire welcomed her in the Gryffindor common room and the sudden warmth made her even more conscious of her own coldness. Quickly, she walked over to the fireplace and rid herself of her near-freezing scarf and coat. She looked around for something to spread them on and her glance passed the low tea-table next to the sofa. On it still stood a chessboard with its now dormant figures. When she moved closer , she beheld greater detail of the chessmen's postures. The black queen and one of her knights had cornered the white king. The king himself lay sprawled on his back, one of his stony shoulders crumbled. Hermione smiled despite her usual scepticism towards the game's rudeness. She was amused, because she remembered the game that had led to this checkmate. As so often it had been Harry and Ron, brooding over the checks of the board. Hermione knew little of chess, but she knew enough to predict doom coming along. In this case, Harry had been the one to face destruction. As per usual.

Hermione remembered Harry's muttered curses and the pitiful crumbling sound his king made when Ron's queen struck him down. Ron had uttered a satisfied 'huff', while Harry let out a snort. 

"One of these days, Ron . . ." the bespectacled boy had threatened good-naturedly.

"Empty threat, Potter," Ron had quipped. "The day you'll beat me at chess will be the day Hermione stops reading."

Even as Hermione remembered the friendly clash, she grinned. He had a point. Harry stood close to no chance at all at ever beating Ron. Yet . . . 

Her memory slid further and she nearly heard her own words again. 

"What if?" she had asked without raising her head from the books she was reading.

"Excuse me?" It had been more of an "oh, you're here, too?" statement.

"What if it happens?"

"If _what_ happens?" Ron had crinkled his nose and stared at her, bewildered.

"What if I stop reading?"

Ron had looked at Harry and then burst out laughing. "That'll be the day Snape will teach Potions in bright blue robes."

Now, like then, the mere thought made her giggle. Alone to _imagine_ such a picture . . .

An icy-cold drop of melted snow chose that moment to drip down on her nose. The sudden coldness – and the tremendous sneeze that followed– hauled Hermione back into present. The fire of the hearth had begun to warm her back, but wetness and chill shivers still clung to her skin in a very uncomfortable way. 

In haste she shoved the chess-board and figurines aside and spread her cloak over the table. It should be close enough to the fire to warm nice and quickly. Another sneeze shattered the silence of the common room and Hermione wasted no more time. She rushed up to the girls' dormitory where she rid herself instantly of her jumper and threw it on the floor.

More clothes quickly added to the pile as she peeled herself out of the drenched fabrics. Her brow creased slightly as she took a final inventory – goodness, even her stockings were wet. 

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'I hope they're mighty uncomfortable, too,' she thought with a sudden hint of grimness. Allying against her in such a mean way – they deserved what came out of it. Maybe Ron would even have icicles on the collar of his flimsy robe. She pressed her lips together and tilted up her head. _'It's their own fault. If they throw caution to the wind, then runny noses are what they shall get.'_

Hermione nodded firmly and walked over to her wardrobe. While she put on dry clothes, she made a mental note to prepare a large pot of hot chocolate for Harry and Ron's return. The two could talk as much as they wished, but sometimes they just needed someone to take care of such elemental things. Otherwise they never would be able to pick their way safely through the small and greater dangers of a term at Hogwarts. They were boys, after all, and every now and then frightfully clumsy and thoughtless.

With a sigh, Hermione shook her head over those truths. Quips and teases, such you could easily get from Ron's tongue. But try to urge some reason out of him – it was tiring. Sometimes Hermione got the feeling that Ron could talk on end without even pondering one of his words. Though she must admit that sometimes listening to Ron was pleasant, no matter what he was saying. 

It hadn't always been that way. But now, finally in their fifth year, she had become aware of it. It hadn't been a spectacular moment. Nothing ever was quite spectacular around Ron Weasley. How could it be with that many siblings? There was always someone with more grace, more wit, and more charm. _'Well, maybe not more charm,'_ she corrected herself, refusing to blush. 

So, what was it that made listening to him so different lately? His voice had changed over the summer, Hermione had noticed. It had come to her attention when Ron had to read that bit of text in History of Magic. She half remembered the odd feeling that his voice had caused. His voice . . . it had suddenly seemed so new to her. It was deeper, for one, and the boyish tone had been replaced with something slightly more mature. It was nice to listen to, Hermione mused. 

With a shrug of her shoulders she let the memory fall and slipped into fresh socks. They were warm and soft and Hermione's toes instantly felt more at ease. Out of another drawer she picked a towel and began to rub her hair dry.

To her astonishment some frozen snowball-remnants still crumbled out of her curls. 

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'When was the last time you were involved in a snowball fight?' she asked herself. Never. She'd never participated in any such games before. 

Slowly, Hermione let the towel sink into her lap. When she looked back to the winters before Hogwarts she always saw herself sitting in her room, alone, most times with a book in front of her. She didn't mind at that time, though, or at least thought she didn't. Studying was everything for her and the more she accomplished, the higher her spirits rose. There seldom seemed to be room for other things. When she'd looked out of her window and saw other children building snowmen she told herself that it was good that she wasn't invited to join them. She had some chapters to read, after all. 

When she came to Hogwarts, it became different. Books were still her good friends, but they were no longer her only friends. For the first time she had real companions, to whom she could talk, who annoyed her often enough, but on whom she could count on, as well. 

Thoughtfully, Hermione twisted the towel between her hands. How had it changed? She really couldn't tell. She only knew that she'd scarcely ever felt as good as now. And it was not because of her outstanding marks at Levitation or any other subject. In fact, it were the book-less moments, those small events that slid past or actually broke the rules that excited her. 

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'Bad influence,' she thought. _'Bad, bad influence.'_ A chuckle escaped her and in a sudden flash of inspiration she grabbed her wand and made the towel soar back into the wardrobe. With a satisfied 'huh' she planted her hands on her hips and nodded. She was getting better and better. Soon she would be able to levitate really heavy things, maybe even a person. It was worth working on it, after all – one never knew what new evil would steal into the school and what spells would then be needed to stop it. In such a case, Hermione preferred to be both useful and prepared. 

And it was best to waste no precious time, Hermione told herself. If she already was deprived of further fun at Hogsmeade, she could as well study. 

She walked over to her bedside-locker, her hands reaching out for the pile of books that laid there. Almost tenderly did her fingers brush over the velvety cover of the uppermost primer. Hermione wondered how some people lived a life long and never understand the wonderful experience of reading, absorbing and just feeling a book. But then -- how would you explain that to a Ron Weasley, whose face turned green at the mere mentioning of a herb-lore encyclopaedia. 

With a smile Hermione tugged the books under her arm. She might change her habits slightly, but she would still stay Hermione. She would never stop reading. 

Which of course meant that the unfortunate Harry would never beat Ron at chess. 

***

The library was deserted, too, although Hermione thought she'd seen the shadow of the librarian whiz past behind the shelves at one point. The books she had taken from her dormitory she'd returned at the counter and by now had already found a good number of new ones she planned to occupy herself with. There was only one book missing, the work of a deceased wizard called: 'The Higher Art Of Animal Levitation or How To Make A Cow Fly Unnoticed Over A Muggle-Roof.' Hermione found the title very striking. 

She'd come to the row of shelves where she expected to find the book when a slight noise made her stop in her tracks. There it was again – a hushed whisper, nearly inaudible. 

Well, that was strange. Hermione knew the librarian to be an overty silent woman. In fact, she thought she'd never heard the librarian's voice so far. But despite Hermione's wondering, the whispering went on. Now she was curious. Was someone else in the library? That would be even queerer than a murmuring librarian. It was Hogsmeade day, a free day for all the students. The only person who would be cracked enough to visit the library at such a day was Hermione herself, she was sure of it. 

Muffling her steps as best as she could, she tiptoed around the shelves in search of the noisemaker. But suddenly there was no whispering anymore and she had nothing to lead her. She was about to give up on her attempt to find the other being around when she circled a shelf and found herself faced with the person in question. 

A most undignified squeak left her mouth as she froze to the spot, staring. The shock was so big, Hermione almost dropped her books. A mere couple of steps before her stood the towering figure of Goyle, his hand risen as if he was about to take a book from the shelf. Obviously, he was as dumbfounded as she was, for his eyes grew as big as saucers at her side. Neither had time to recollect their thoughts as two other figures came down the narrow aisle between the bookcases. At once Hermione recognised them -- the plump shape of the second was unmistakable as was the shock of pale yellow hair of the first. Malfoy. Crabbe. 

A snapshot of the scene would have been funny indeed, and surely found a place in the outtake section of the yearbook. Surprise was written on each of the four faces.

It was Malfoy who found his voice first. "Granger," he hissed. "What are you doing here?"

A jolt passed through Hermione's body as she instinctively gripped her books more tight. She swallowed hard and forced her own voice to drop to a cold level. "Searching for books, what else?" she shot back and tilted her chin. "And what are you doing here?"

Something like a flash of guilt flitted over Malfoy's face and Goyle went instantly pale. That was queer. It almost looked as though they had something to hide. Malfoy masked his anxiety almost immediately, but his two partners in crime were not nearly so crafty as to disguise their bad conscience. 

Hermione frowned and only then did she recognise where they had met each other. This was the aisle that lead to the iron grilles that separated the south wing of the library from the rest. It was the corridor that led to the restricted area! And Malfoy and Crabbe had come from the only door in the grilles. Realisation dawned on Hermione. Her eyes widened as she stared unbelievingly at the trio. 

"You were . . ." she stammered, but came no further as a long, spidery-knuckled hand landed heavily on her shoulder. Gasping in shock, Hermione whirled around and found herself eye-to-eye with the Hogwarts librarian, Madam Pince. A pair of tiny, grey eyes behind wire-framed spectacles looked sternly down at her, then rose and directed a stone-hard glance on the three boys.

"I don't believe students have any business around here, not without a permission at any rate," the librarian said in a raspy way; her speech seemed as dusty as the books surrounding them. 

So that was how her voice sounded like, Hermione thought irrationally. Her glance shifted from the three caught Slytherins to the elderly librarian and back again. At the venom in Malfoy's piercing eyes Hermione felt the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck rise up and she went cold instantly. 

"You had better come with me," said the librarian, her spectacles shimmering dimly in the semi-light of the aisle. Hermione's heart began to beat loud and fast in her chest as she turned back to Madam Pince and half opened her mouth to speak. The hand on her shoulder squeezed slightly but Hermione saw the librarian nod as well. 

"I know you're not one of the company, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince. "You may go back to your studies." 

Hermione swallowed slowly. The librarian let go of her shoulder and addressed the Slytherins with a cold glance. "The three gentlemen follow me." With that, she turned and slid past the shelf. A hesitant and very uncomfortable-looking Crabbe and Goyle followed her; even Malfoy said nothing in protest to the thin librarian's orders. But when he passed Hermione, he stopped briefly, his glance practically shooting daggers at her. The aisle was narrow, and Hermione could feel the books in the shelves behind her press into her back and Malfoy's breath on her forehead. 

With Harry and Ron at her side, she wouldn't have worried in the least. And she wasn't usually so affected by Malfoy and his threatening behaviour. But this look on his face was different than usual. There was cold hatred in the pale eyes.

"You didn't do that for nothing, Granger," he hissed. "I'll get you for this."

Hermione opened her mouth for a scathing reply, but by then he was already around the corner and out of sight. 

Hermione remained back in the corridor, her heart hammering in her chest. 

***

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TBC


	3. Chapter 3

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~ Chimera's Call ~

Chapter 3

"PEEVES!"

Harry and Ron flinched hard. They had barely managed to close the door again -- the sheer force of the blizzard had seemed to want to cover the inside of Hogwarts with snow just as much as the outside.

They shook their heads simultaneously, sending snowflakes flying over the neatly cleaned floor. 

"PEEVES! I'LL GET YOU THIS TIME!!"

Ron cast a worried glance at Harry and slowly moved towards the stair. "I don't know about you, but if Filch is already in such a bad mood, maybe it would be better if he didn't see what we brought in."

Harry's gaze wandered towards the snowdrift that had followed them in and was now slowly melting into a large puddle.

"PEEVES! ONE MORE SNOWFLAKE IN THIS CASTLE, AND I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"

Hearing Filch and flying up the stairs was one. 

***

"Cho-co-late par-fait." Ron gasped when they reached the picture of the Fat Lady.

"You, too?" she asked, disgusted. "Goodness gracious, doesn't any one of you know how to stay dry?"

Again, she squeezed her plump body into the corner farthest away from the dripping wet boys and was sourly disappointed to realise that they completely ignored her protest.

"One of these days, Harry, you won't be there, and that'll be the day I'll show him what it means to --"

"One of these days, you'll get into severe trouble, that's what will happen." Harry heaved a breath and ran a hand through his wet hair. "Malfoy is just provoking you, trying to get you to --"

"I guess you won't be interested in hearing that the fireplaces will not work properly?"

Harry and Ron wheeled around, the entrance to the common room and Malfoy forgotten. 

"What?"

"Why?"

The Fat Lady looked extremely pleased with herself, and wiped away a droplet of water from her skirt with a smug grin. "Got your attention, didn't it?"

Harry, whose teeth were chattering in a steady rhythm by now, was rather put off by the Fat Lady's grin. "W-hy aren't they w-working?"

"You're not asking nicely . . ." she huffed.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Ron getting ready to shake his wet hair in the direction of the picture. "Well?"

"Er . . . I guess that is nice enough," she said, trying in vain to move even further away from Ron, who grinned maliciously.

"S-So?"

"Peeves. That ghastly poltergeist has clogged the fireplaces with snow and that has short-circuited the floo network. Also, most of the fires have gone out."

Ron groaned. "No heat?"

"Not unless Miss Granger has found a way to . . ."

Harry had to suppress a grin when he saw Ron straightening and puffing his chest slightly. "Then we don't have to worry."

He slipped past the flabbergasted Fat Lady and was gone from sight.

"He's right, you know," Harry added and winked at the pink-robed woman in the picture before slipping past her as well. 

***

Harry welcomed the relative warmth of the Gryffindor common room, which proved that Ron had been right in his initial trust in Hermione's skills.

Without checking on the common room further, Harry dashed up the stairs to his dormitory and shed his drenched clothes quickly. A hot bath would be pleasant right now, but he doubted that there'd be much hope for hot water after what Peeves had done. _'Ruddy poltergeist,'_ he thought as he donned dry pants and a fresh jumper.

While he trudged down the stairs to get back to the fireplace, he hoped that maybe he'd get the house elves to get something warm to eat and drink for Ron and him before the actual dinner. And Hermione. Although she probably had eaten already.

He flopped down in one of the big armchairs and closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the tingling sensation the fire brought to his frozen limbs.

"My, she must have been tired," Ron remarked in a whisper and Harry opened his eyes again. Indeed, Hermione was sleeping on the couch in front of the fire, a mug of tea still in front of her, and a book slipped from her limp hands.

"D'you reckon we should wake her?"

Harry chewed his bottom lip. True, she must have been tired, but leaving her here while they got something to eat? It didn't seem fair.

"She might want to grab a bite, too; let's wake her."

Ron poked a long, freckled finger at Hermione's arm. "Sleepy-head. Time for dinner."

No reaction.

"Hermione?"

No reaction.

A more vigorous poke. "Hermione!"

No reaction.

Ron sighed heavily. "Play acting, she is. You try to wake her."

Harry rolled his eyes and rose from the comfortable warmth of the armchair. "Your books are on fire, Hermione," he said, matter-of-factly.

No reaction. Not the merest twitch of a muscles or a sound.

It was then that Harry saw the trickle of blood on Hermione's cheek. 

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Interlude I

Hermione felt the darkness touching her. It fell on her like a thick fog that made it hard to breathe or move. 

There was something in the dark. Her instincts told her to watch out even before her mind knew why. Something lingered in the dark, waiting to attack its prey. 

Her. 

Why on earth couldn't she move? Why was everything she had learned at school useless right now? Why did she feel so utterly and horribly helpless? 

She reached for her wand, her one safety line. Nothing. Anxiously, she searched within her robes, but found nothing as well. She was alone. She was defenceless. There was barely any spell which could be done without a wand!

Hermione heard the thing coming into action. It slowly crept in the darkness, creating noises that made her hair stand on end. Her worst fears seemed to come true. Alone and helpless.

She knew there was no such thing as a strange creature that lived in the darkness. Not here at any rate. Those were nightmares from her childhood. They just weren't true. But why didn't this explanation hold any comfort? 

She suddenly was five years old again and caught in a dream she couldn't escape. 

It was coming closer. Much closer. She already thought she could feel its hot breath on her skin. 

Why couldn't she fight this? It would be so easy to get away if she just got up and ran. But where was she supposed to run to? She had no idea how far the darkness went and what further dangers it hid. 

Despite those facts she started to move. Scared or not, she wouldn't just sit and wait. 

As soon as she tried, she realised that it was impossible. She was trapped. The hot breath now really was there, she could feel it on her throat. 

For a few moments Hermione simply froze. The fear was so overwhelming that it suffocated everything. 

It was only now that she realised that whatever had her trapped wasn't a thing. Her childhood nightmare changed into a more present one. Suddenly she knew the hands that held her. Knew that they were slightly callused from Quidditch practice, knew them to be gentle and comforting. Again there was no consolation in this knowledge. 

A warm stickiness soaked her school robes. She smelt something . . . like copper . . . and death. The hot breath on her throat felt like acid, burning into her skin. 

"Hermione." 

She knew that voice. Gentle and deep, not quite adult, yet far from boyish. She knew whom it belonged to. But it could not be, it must not be.

__

'Don't, don't, don't. Not this nightmare. Please not this one!' 

The words inside her head became like some kind of mantra she was clinging to, hoping that by the time she had finally managed to stop repeating the words, the dream would be gone. 

It didn't work. Of course it didn't. None of those things ever worked. She wouldn't stop it if she didn't fight. 

The grip on her body tightened, albeit gently. Fear paralysed her. "You're going to help me, aren't you, Hermione? You're not going to let me do this alone, are you?" 

__

'Don't touch me, don't touch me, DON'T TOUCH ME!' 

To her surprise she must've yelled those words, because she could still hear the shrill echo of them hanging in the oily dark. 

The hand touched her face. 

***

__

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

****

~ Chimera's Call ~ 

****

Chapter 4

__

I can't remember

The first time when I fell

I can't remember

When I first dropped off my cloud

You can't imagine – I know

And I'm too week to tell

I am alone again and silence screams too loud.

(Sylvia Hörner)

~*~

"Nothing?"

"No, nothing."

"I will kill Malfoy. I swear, Harry, I will." Ron sat next to Hermione's prone figure on the couch in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room when Harry returned. 

Harry bent over the couch, looking at her anxiously. "Why are you so sure it was Malfoy?"

Ron's eyes flashed when he looked up. "He and his watchdogs were the only ones not in Hogsmeade today, remember? Didn't you see that smirk on his face when he said, 'Come to look for your girlfriend, Potter? Too bad this won't be a fun night for you.' Didn't you? I _told_ you he was up to something!" His voice grew more agitated with each word. 

Harry replayed the scene in his mind. At that very moment, he had been far too busy holding back Ron from throttling Malfoy to actually think about the insult. That's what he had thought it then. An insult, nothing new, nothing to worry about. He had thought Malfoy was referring to Hermione having caught cold, after all.

But now . . . He looked down at Hermione, her face ashen and twisted in fear, her knuckles white from clutching the couch so hard. A fine trickle of blood was running from her nose and kept returning, no matter how often they wiped it away. The handkerchief in Harry's hand was covered in dark red stains already. They could not wake her. They'd been trying everything, but she simply wouldn't wake. She wasn't petrified, but somehow trapped in her dreams, which seemed to be getting more unpleasant by the minute.

Ron was right. This time, that slimy git Malfoy had gone too far. Still . . . "I wish we could send for a teacher." Never before had Harry wished to be surrounded by all of Hogwarts professors the way he did now. 

The red-head nodded reluctantly. "You're right, but . . ." Ron trailed off, and Harry knew what he was referring to. They'd heard Filch roaring after Peeves for clogging the fireplaces with snow, and the Fat Lady had made it clear that the floo network couldn't be used. And they had seen almost all of the professors down in the Three Broomsticks. It would take a while until any of them could get here with the raging blizzard outside. And the only ones left . . . Harry didn't trust Trelawney and surely Binns couldn't help, and Dumbledore . . . Dumbledore had stayed behind in his office when they had left Hogwarts in the morning, but he wasn't there anymore. Harry had just tried to find the headmaster and had failed. He could be anywhere in Hogwarts right now without them standing a chance of finding him.

Ron muttered some intelligible curses under his breath and turned back to Hermione. "Just when you really need them . . ."

Harry nodded mutely. His glance again shifted down to where Hermione lay on the couch. 

Had she ever looked more pale? More frightened? More vulnerable? Harry looked up at Ron to see his expression mirrored exactly in the face of his best friend.

"What do we do if she . . ." He trailed off, not daring to voice his thought.

Red hair shone in the semi-darkness of the common room when Ron shook his head. "Don't even think that. She'll be all right. She's Hermione." Harry fought a wistful smile at the certainty that was in Ron's voice. She was Hermione. That simple. As though it were the cure for everything. 

Ron had turned towards Hermione again, speaking low, as though beseeching her. "You will, won't you? You better had, or I'll . . . I'll . . ." He scratched his head, trying to come up with something truly horrifying to threaten her with. "I'll feed your books to Fang!" 

Time for drastic threats, Harry thought wryly. If that didn't wake her up, he didn't know what would. 

__

Interlude II

Later on, Hermione couldn't recall what caused her to take up the fight. But as soon as she felt the cold, gentle hand touching her face she unleashed a scream even a banshee would've been envious of. It didn't matter what she hit with her fists and knees and feet. There was only one thought left in her mind. Away from here, far, far away from here. 

But no matter how hard she fought, she couldn't escape. Her thoughts were racing incoherently and she went on fighting with only the power of despair, forgetting everything she had ever learned and falling back onto defence mechanisms that were probably centuries old, embedded in her blood. 

Finally the grip on her waist seemed to loosen a little and she jerked forward. She heard something akin to a choked whimper when she lost contact to the so-horribly well-known hands. 

But she was free! 

Not thinking clearly anymore, Hermione fled into the room. When she finally hit a wall at a full run and a sharp pain shot through her body, she collapsed on the floor. 

__

'Wake up, Hermione. Wake up!' she told herself. 

There was no other way to leave this horrible reality. When she woke up, she would be in her bed. Safe. 

Even though she knew it didn't make much sense, she closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure. If she got up and went along this wall, she might find a door. Doors in dreams always were a way out. If she brought all this down to a rational level, maybe the dream would end all on its own.

Her blood was still roaring in her ears. The only thing she really heard was the pounding of her heart and the sound of her breath. 

__

'Just a moment,' she told herself. _'Calm down and think. There has to be a way out of here.'_

It took her all the strength she had to get up and make her way along the wall. The task had sounded easy when she had planned it. But she hadn't known that the path would be uneven. She couldn't remember how many times she had fallen down, each fall bringing new pain, worse than the one before. It felt as if her whole body consisted only of one huge bruise. 

She stumbled on. The pain was slowly subsiding; it was as though her body was getting used to it. 

When it finally came, the change in the rough wall was so sudden that she nearly missed it. When she didn't find the change again, she was bordering on complete and final panic. But she did find cool metal under her fingers as she went a few steps back. 

A doorknob. 

Hope flared up in Hermione. She didn't have her wand, but maybe . . . _'Alohomora,'_ she whispered and turned the knob. 

A soft scratching was audible, but nothing else happened. Hermione's hopes were crashing down as fast as they had flared up so wildly. 

__

'Don't let it be closed. Please don't let it be closed.' 

Another time she heard the soft scratching noise, but again nothing happened. "Come on!"

She had come this far and now the door was closed? Hermione dropped her head against the cold metal and felt hysterical laughter bubbling up. This was just fate's very own irony. She would be standing in front of the door forever, waiting for it to open up, never being able to leave this dream another way. She had read all about dreams and especially nightmares. Doors were a way out. If only this would open, she would never ever lecture Ron and Harry about their homework . . .

A third time she tried -- a hopeless pulling on the knob, when it finally turned. Waves of joy washed over Hermione. She would be leaving the room that was dark enough to hide all the worst fears of the world. She would return to a world that could be analysed and understood. She would get out of here safely and forget this place. She would wake up and go to breakfast with Harry and Ron and everything would be all right again.

By the time she had finally mustered the strength to take the final step it caught her and the door, her last hope for escape and survival, closed. When it caused both of them to fall, Hermione screamed like she had never screamed before in her life. 

***

__

  
TBC


	5. Chapter 5

****

~ Chimera's Call ~

Chapter 5

As much as he willed her to open her eyes, she didn't even move. They would need a potion or a spell to wake her up. Yet Harry couldn't think of any and none of the teachers were within reach. The only other person who could have come up with a solution from her great resource of knowledge lay still as stone on the sofa. Chagrined, Harry bit his lip. 

"Malfoy," Ron said, the word sounding almost like a growl to Harry's ears. "He's done this to her, he has to know how it can be undone -- hasn't he?"

"I think so," Harry answered doubtfully. "But even if he knew – do you really think he would tell us? He was gleeful enough about the damage he'd caused."

"Maybe he just needs a little persuasion," came the gloomy reply. Surprised, Harry looked up. Ron still stared down at Hermione, only by now his whole body had grown tense and his eyes glimmered strangely from beneath red strands of hair. With still growing wonder, Harry saw that his friend clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles were already turning white. 

"Persuasion of what sort?" Harry asked carefully. 

Ron shot him a quick, burning glance. "Of the hard sort."

Harry looked at Ron, then straightened and with a grim face retrieved his wand. Of course. Malfoy would never help them, unless he was made to. And made to he would be. _'Nothing I'd rather do,'_ Harry thought darkly. 

"You're right," he said. "I'll go find Malfoy and then he _will_ help Hermione." _'Oh yes,'_ he thought. _'He'll be_ very_ ready to help once I've finished with him.'_ Spells and counter-spells already formed in Harry's mind as he anticipated the coming duel with his arch-enemy. Anger added to the contempt he already felt for the spiteful Slytherin. Determined to roast Malfoy if it came to it, Harry shoved his spectacles into place and set out for the common rooms exit. He hadn't fully finish his second step when a hand on his arm stopped him in place. 

"No, Harry," Ron said, gripping his friend's sleeve a little too tightly. 

Confusion made the bespectacled boy raise his brows. "But I thought you said . . ."

"I didn't mean a wand lesson," Ron cut in, pressing his lips together tightly. "And I didn't mean that you should go."

Astonishment was written all over Harry's face as he studied Ron. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, reading each other's expression and thoughts. The exchange was quick and succinct. Harry lowered his arm and tucked back his wand. 

"All right," he said and folded his arms before his chest. "I'll stay with Hermione."

Ron nodded and strode to the portrait hole without any further word. 

***

Mischief is a pleasing thing, as long as you can bask in its success. 

Draco Malfoy knew the scent and feel of such delight all too well. His schemes were meant to work, and triumph was something Malfoy would drink like sweet wine. Obviously, he enjoyed every single drop. 

From his watch-point beneath the stony pillars Ron could see the smug grin plastered over the Slytherin's pale face. Had such a smirk usually driven Ron into madness, it now only deepened the coldness of his anger. It was a new feeling, and with a stony calmness Ron could watch Malfoy and take in the scene that surrounded him. In such composure he could plan and prepare. 

Goyle was with Malfoy, trodding behind the smaller boy like a dog at its master's heels. That could be a problem, but Ron reckoned that surprise might give him the advantage he needed. He waited until Malfoy and his shadow came by the fountain in the middle of the place, then he stepped out of the shadows and into the courtyard. Distantly, he felt his heart hammering fast against his chest. 

The two boys didn't see him until he was almost upon them. When Malfoy finally noticed him approaching, a look first of surprise then of satisfaction settled on his features.

"Weasley!" he exclaimed in mock-wonder. "Came out for a walk? I thought you had more important things to d--" He only came thus far, then Ron was upon him and Malfoy was sent sprawling on the snow-covered court. The skinny Slytherin had only so much time as to gasp when Ron seized him roughly by his collar and lifted him half up from the ground. Goyle behind them stood frozen in shock, gaping at the scene with saucer-round eyes. Ron, however, wasted no time. With a quick flip of his hands, he turned Malfoy around and pressed his face into the snow. Summoning a strength he had no idea he even possessed, Ron then grabbed the sputtering Slytherin by his shoulders and stood him on his feet. With a push in the back he propelled Malfoy in another direction and made him tumble against the fountain. Malfoy could hardly grip the rim of the basin in time and his nose stopped only inches above the iced surface of the fount. 

Ron leaped after him and held him down, his hand clasping in an iron-grip around the other boy's neck. 

"Spill, you slimy git," Ron snarled. "What have you done to her?" A small part of him was surprised by the ferocity that had seized him, but the larger part of Ron Weasley could only see the picture of Hermione's prone figure, her white cheeks marred by the trickle of blood and her features twisted in fear. He could hardly prevent his hands from shaking and his breath went rashly, puffing vapour into the crispy air. 

Malfoy beneath him made an almost mewling sound when Ron put still more pressure down on him. That was the moment Goyle at last decided to participate. Two paw-like hands snapped around Ron's waist like a tight rope and he was lifted in the air and off Malfoy. For a split second he could hear Goyle's panting breath, then Ron was tossed into a snowdrift. He came up in an instant, ducking under a heavy swing that Goyle had aimed at him. 

Ron Weasley, who had grown up with four elder brothers under the same roof, threw himself into the fight. Years of experience and the remembrance of uncounted brawls clicked into place. He easily foresaw the moves of Goyle, twisted out of his reach and returned quick blows where the plump Slytherin didn't expect them. Like an eel he slipped through a vice-like grip and jumped out of the stomping lad's way. Goyle, who never saw it coming, flew over Ron's outstretched leg and shot head first into the snowdrift. There he lay and Ron – snow-slumps plastered to his red hair – whirled around to face the remaining Slytherin. 

Malfoy, still too baffled to be quick, fumbled in his robes for his wand. When he finally did retrieve it, Ron was already at his side and slapping the magic tool out of the Slytherin's hand. When he lifted his fist, Malfoy actually cowered and a wave of satisfaction washed over the seething Weasley. 

It was then that Ron came to his senses again. He looked down at Malfoy's shivering frame and saw the thin trail of blood that trickled from the pointy nose. Mild shock poured into Ron's fury and he hesitated. He had neither planned to strike so hard nor to push the fight so far. But the moment he'd gotten his hands onto this villain's collar, there had been no stopping him. The better half of him now wagged its finger and funnily enough, his conscience came up with Hermione's eyes, staring sternly up at him. He thought that no matter what the git had done, Hermione certainly would not approve of Ron beating Malfoy into a lumpy mass. 

__

'Not that he doesn't deserve it,' Ron thought grimly. 

He loosened the grip of his hand, which had grasped the front of Malfoy's robe. Still, there must have been something in his eyes that kept Malfoy fretting in spite of the waning grip. Ron himself didn't notice anything unusual about himself, he was just enraged, but Malfoy appeared to see something new in him. Later, when the present scene would long be part of the past, this particular moment would enkindle a fire of hatred every time Draco was reminded of it. Ron Weasley had frightened him in a way that brought him to reveal weakness. Shame and wrath would from thereon struggle inside of him and never, never, would he forgive the humiliation. Neither would he get rid of the thought that the red-head could summon a strength that overpowered his own. 

Right then, though, at the side of the fountain, Malfoy couldn't think at all. Ron still towered above the ducking Slytherin, indecisive about what to do, when once again a pair of thick arms tore him away. This time, there was no savage wrath that could support him, and Goyle held the lanky boy fast in his grip. With clenched teeth, Ron dragged at the arms that held him. 

Malfoy stared at them, then straightened slowly. If possible, his face had taken on an even whiter shade of pale and his dark eyes flickered unsteadily. 

"Weasley," he breathed and his voice trembled in fast-growing ire. 

"Tell me what you've done to Hermione," Ron squeezed out from between clenched teeth, unfazed by the menacing situation. He locked his eyes with Draco's and put all his rage in his piercing glance. "Tell me, or I'll swear I'll take care of your face so that even your mother won't recognise you after."

Malfoy's eyes widened and he indeed took a step backwards. Then he caught himself and tilted up his chin, though he couldn't entirely hide the shaking of his hands. 

"Big words, Weasley," he hissed. "I wonder how you'll put them into effect."

"Don't fret, I will," Ron snarled and kicked his feet in order to get free. 

Heat came in angry spots to Malfoy's cheek and at length he dared to come closer. Ron could see he was seething, his careful mask of vanity fallen from his sharp features. Open hate glistened in his eyes and beneath his disheveled strands of hair he looked almost mad. 

"That mud-blood deserved what came to her," he sputtered. "If I could've made it, she would have gotten even worse!"

Ron struggled wildly against Goyle's grip and felt his initial fury return. 

A frenzied grin broadened on Malfoy's face. "I nearly would have," he went on in a leeching voice. "It was all there. If I had taken another glass and one more pouch your muggle-witch would be cold as stone by now. Just another phial out of that shelf, and I would have re-invented the Sleeping Beauty tale." He gave a short, resentful laugh. "Only that she would be neither a beauty nor would she ever wake up."

Wild triumph gleamed in his eyes and he watched Ron to complete his victory. Yet he was confused as he met only surprise on his opponent's face. 

"You've been into Snape's secret supplies," Ron said in a low and astounded voice. 

Malfoy flinched and stared at him, realising what he just had revealed. 

Reassured by Malfoy's shock, Ron summoned his strength and repeated in a louder voice. "You've been into Snape's secret supplies!" Malfoy clearly was bereft of all words and Ron felt himself gaining more upper-hand with every passing second. Thus encouraged, he went on fast. "You've stolen from your own head-of-house, oh, and you've been in an area strictly forbidden to every student. They'll cast you out as soon as they find out!" Again Malfoy flinched violently and Ron knew he had won. It only needed one more step. He went totally calm in Goyle's grip and looked at Draco with narrowed eyes. "Let me down," he said coldly. One quick glance of Malfoy and Goyle released him. 

On the snow-paved courtyard Ron stood facing Draco Malfoy and this time he didn't use his fists to make his point. It only needed the dark sound of his voice. 

"Now tell me how to wake Hermione." 

***

__

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

****

~Chimera's Call ~

Chapter 6

__

On a different day, if I was safe in my own skin,

then I wouldn't feel lost and frightened

but this is today and I'm lost in my own skin

and I'm so lonely I don't even want to be myself anymore.

(D. Armstrong)

~*~

"I've got it."

Harry flinched when Ron's voice came unexpectedly out of nowhere. He let go of Hermione's hand and rose.

Ron looked a mess. Snow was still clinging to his newly wet hair, his clothes were rumpled and rather wet, too and he sported the beginning of an incredible shiner. Yet there was something in his friend's posture that made Harry take an unconscious step backwards. Was that triumph glinting in Ron's eyes?

"How?" Harry couldn't think of more to say. He had agreed to letting Ron go, but he had never actually expected that he would be successful. Agonising moments had passed in which he had wished he hadn't agreed. Malfoy wasn't stupid, nor was he ever alone. Harry had much rather expected to go searching for Ron's hexed body.

Yet here he was standing, the fiery hair hanging in wet strands into his green eyes, fixated on Hermione's still figure.

"Did anything happen while I was gone? Did she . . ." He trailed off and waved a hand in her direction. There were abrasions on his knuckles, Harry noticed. Something odd settled in his stomach, a tight knot that refused to unfurl.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. But the bleeding still hasn't stopped."

"I shouldn't have let him off the hook so easily," Ron muttered darkly as he went to the fireplace.

Harry took a deep breath, preparing himself for the question that burned on his mind. He gestured towards Ron's hands and his face. "What did you --"

"Don't ask. You don't want to know." Ron waved dismissively, but Harry noticed that he hid his hands in the sleeves of his jumper.

"Well, actually --"

"NO, Harry." The words were icy and more authorative than he had even heard Professor McGonagall in his four years at Hogwarts. Harry narrowed his eyes at his friend. Was this really still the same Ron Weasley he knew? He had the distinct feeling that something had changed, as though something big had happened down there.

"Ron, are you OK?"

Ron looked as though he had expected anything but this question. For a moment, he seemed to be startled into answering, but decided against it. He placed something on the table, but Harry didn't notice. He was captured by the changes in Ron's demeanour. That dark something he had seen when Ron had entered the common room flickered briefly on his friend's face, only to be replaced by something Harry could only describe as determined tenderness. "Hermione's more important now."

As if on cue, Hermione suddenly starting thrashing wildly, knocking over the mug of tea standing on the table. Within the blink of an eye, Ron was at her side, pulling the table away from her so she couldn't hurt herself. Then he reached for her flailing arms, pinning them at her sides. It all happened too quick for Harry to react.

"The pouch on the table, Harry," Ron said urgently. "Grab a handful of the herbs and throw them into the fire. Then find something to hold in front of your nose and mouth. Don't breathe in the smoke."

Confusion welled up in Harry. "What about you?"

Ron grunted with the strain of holding Hermione still. She seemed to be a lot tougher than she looked. "The smoke will put everyone who breathes it into some sort of trance. I didn't get everything, but it will somehow allow me to find Hermione in her dreams and show her a way out. But we will need you."

"Then why can't I breathe in the smoke? If you need my help, I have to be with you --"

"No, you don't. We need you here. You need to wake me up first, and then Hermione will hopefully be able to follow me and eventually wake."

"Hopefully?"

Ron pulled a grimace. "The git wasn't sure how much of the potion he had slipped into her tea." Something dark and unpleasant flitted over his face. "We'll have to wait and see."

Harry didn't like the thought of sending Ron to the same place Hermione was. It didn't seem to be pleasant at all. But still, they had to help her, like she had done on countless occasions before.

"Why don't you let me go?"

Another grunt from Ron, who had just received a swift kick from Hermione. "Because you're not the one who found out. And . . ." Harry didn't know how Ron found the nerve to grin, but he did. "I'd like to be the knight in shining armour for once. No offence, Harry."

__

'Family business,' Harry thought irrationally when he noticed the look in Ron's eyes. The joke hadn't reached them, and they were indomitable. He had seen this look before, when Ginny had disappeared. Nothing here had to do with playing the hero, nor with bravery, nor with anything along those lines. This was closer than personal. This was family business. Somehow, Hermione must've been promoted family, right along with Mrs. Weasley more or less adopting Harry.

Harry gave a wry grin in reply and reached for the pouch. "How long until I wake you?"

He didn't like the uncertainty he saw on Ron's face. This usually meant that his friend had no idea at all and wanted to cover it up. "Give me an hour."

"Are you sure?"

"No, I'm Ron," the red-head quipped. Then he became serious. "I don't know for sure, Harry. There's no one there to ask, and no time to read dozens of books. Keep checking on Hermione. Maybe the bleeding will stop when I've reached her. Maybe she'll stop fighting."

"But what about you? How will I know you're all right?"

Ron shrugged, seemingly careless. "You don't."

Harry shook his head vigorously. "I don't like this at all."

"Look, mate, I appreciate the concern, but we have to get moving."

"Bloody hero," Harry muttered under his breath when he reached into the pouch, still shaking his head slightly.

"What's that?"

"You heard."

Ron met his eyes squarely, and there it was again -- that look he had given Harry on that giant chess set, back in their first year. And again, Harry knew better than to argue. Bloody brick-headed Weasleys. One worse than the other. And this particular Weasley was the worst, or so it seemed. Harry smiled in spite of himself. It was an admirable character treat, as long as you didn't get in the line of fire. 

His hand closed around the dry leafs in the pouch and he felt them rustling and breaking in his fingers. Then he took the remaining step towards the fire, held a handkerchief in front of his nose and mouth and threw the leafs into the fire.

Smoke rose instantly, filling the space in front of the fireplace. Harry's eyes, although stinging from the smoke, were fixed on Ron, who still struggled to hold Hermione, and by now had to use the full power of both of his arms to keep her from hurting herself and him. A grim sort of expression was on his face. He coughed when the smoke reached him, and his movements became noticeably slower.

Ron's eyelids were beginning to droop and his arms seemed to lose strength with every new breath he took. Finally, his head sunk to Hermione's waist, his hands still around her body. Harry heard him whisper: "See, it worked even without a book." Then all of Ron's muscles relaxed at once, and he was unconscious. 

__

Interlude III

It was a place of aloneness, where all doors were sealed and corridors led to nowhere. She would never find a way out. 

Hermione crouched in a corner, her back pressed against the vaulted wall and knees hugged tight against her shivering body. Blood glistened on these knees and burned in her palms, trails from her scrawl over the cobbled floor when she had tried to escape her shadow. Stealthily it had followed her, even when she could no longer run. It was still now, her pursuer, the shade that had hunted her down here. It was out of sight. But Hermione never believed it was gone. 

__

'It's never gone,' she thought and remembered – all the nights she had laid in deep sleep, kind dreams eluding her no matter how hard she wished for them. Where other children had possibly dreamed of games in the sun, she had only this vault. In the light of day she had always managed to forget, but in the night It easily breached her walls. 

The Shadow. Her loneliness. 

Hermione sniffled and quickly wiped the back of her hand over her nose. She had thought she had lost this chimera, this nightmare, when she'd come to Hogwarts. Because here things had changed, hadn't they? She was no longer the Hermione she'd been back home. The Hermione that was always hidden behind piles of books, with her glance ever studious and her mouth forever serious. The girl that had carried her head high, so she wouldn't crumble under the indifference and laughter of the children her age. Those children looked at her and couldn't understand her. Why she loved to read while others made rough races down the hill. Why she knew her letters before she even came to school. They called her a swot, because her world was weird to them. They never knew Hermione yearned to be a part of their circle. She longed to play and laugh, to just be cheerful as they were. But she never found a way. She never knew how to tell them, or to approach them. Because every step she took nigh was granted with smirks and teasing remarks that made her courage fail. So she turned up her nose and turned away, sealing her hope in a drawer with no key. 

So it had been before Hogwarts and her dream-born shadow had always lurked at the brims of her slumber. 

__

'But it was gone,' Hermione thought in despair. For four years now it had been gone. It should be gone forever! "It should be," Hermione whispered with tears. She was a different Hermione; the shadow shouldn't haunt her anymore. 

Yet that wasn't the truth and here in this vault, where the air was stale and moist, she knew it. Things around her might have changed, but she was still the same. The studious Hermione, the bookworm, who strove for knowledge and accomplishment. That was she. And though at one time she'd known that studiousness was a good characteristic she now believed it was hollow. Because beneath the cover of book-cleverness she didn't really know who she was. What kind of a person was she? The thirst for knowledge had little substance – there had to be more about her, hadn't there? But then, didn't the present situation show the reality? Deprived of her wand, her books and all rational explanations she was -- nothing. Just an empty pouch and of no importance at all.

__

'But I'm more,' a tiny voice in her head wailed. _'I'm more! I have friends! I'm dear to them!'_

She had friends. Hadn't that been her fondest wish for as long as she could think? True friends, who knew her and valued her for what she was. Hermione tilted her chin and swallowed hard. Ron and Harry were her friends. The three of them were companions to the end; their previous adventures proved it. 

What do they prove? 

The question didn't come wholly out of herself, but at least part of it was her own heart speaking. What indeed did their adventures prove? 

__

'We stick together,' Hermione thought defiantly against the doubts. _'We defeat all threats and look out for each other.'_

Yes, but in times of peace – when there is no immediate danger – do they look out for you, as well?

__

'They do,' Hermione thought curtly, but her hands began to tremble. Did they really? She struggled to remember. 

Do they tell you that you're important to them? Do they include you at all times?

__

'No,' Hermione thought. _'But they're boys, it's their way.'_ Of course Harry and Ron would do their own things every now and then. Things that only boys would enjoy, like broom races or other stuff. Then she would use her spare time to read and work on her knowledge. Just like old times. 

Hermione twitched at the thought. In her memory, that day's snowball fight unrolled. She remembered the fun they've had, but then she also remembered how they had left her to go home on her own. While they would return to Hogsmeade and enjoy their time a little while longer. 

Hermione's eyes grew wide and she clasped her knees almost frantically. Something terrible began to form itself in her mind. She imagined Ron and Harry, clapping each others' shoulders or brooding over a friendly game of wizard-chess. They were a perfect team. Why would they ever want to be around her?

__

'You know it,' a treacherous voice in her head offered. And indeed, she did. When she remembered all their adventures Hermione saw clearly the value she had for Harry and Ron. She was the girl with the brains. It was a cruel realisation. 

They only needed her because she knew the spell. She knew the potion, the curse, and if she didn't know it, she was ever ready to look it up. That was why Harry and Ron bore with her. For them, she was a living encyclopaedia. 

"No . . .' Hermione whispered. It couldn't be. She had to be more to them. In the shadows of the vault she thought she saw the boys' shadows and heard echoes of their voices. Laughter, easy mate-talk and friendly banter. She also heard what was said about herself:

"The day you'll beat me at chess will be the day Hermione stops reading."

"Perfect Miss Granger has just admitted that there are rules meant to be broken? Be still, my heart!"

There and then she could no longer ignore the truth. 

"No," Hermione sobbed and laid her forehead on her folded arms. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. How could she have ever deceived herself? She was as alone as before. It was even worse – for now she had also lost her last shield. She'd lost all support from rationality, from wisdom and the lore of books. There was nothing left. 

Her soft keening was a lonesome sound in the vault. Shadows lay frozen on the stone and from somewhere drops of water fell heavy on the cobbled stone. 

"Hermione?"

Tears moistened her wrists, while through the woolen fabric of her skirt coldness crept on her skin. 

"Hermione?"

At first, she didn't really register the voice. Then she dismissed it as one of the vaults many cruel illusions, sent to haunt her even more. But when the call sounded a third time, she lifted her head. In the shadows some metres away from her she saw the shape of a person, hardly visibly in the darkness. Was it her pursuer?

Trembling, Hermione pressed her back against the wall, at the same time trying to make herself as small as possible.

"Who's there?" she cried softly. 

"Hermione, is it you?" The person stepped hesitantly out of the shadow and into the small circle of dim twilight that surrounded her. Even in the dimness his red hair shone like a flame. He came nearer still, looking around with wonder written all over his face. Finally he stopped at her feet. 

"Where are we?" he asked astounded, still not looking at her. Hermione couldn't think of a word to say, too weak from all the former nightmares and too surprised by this new apparition. Finally Ron looked down at her. He frowned then, taking in her damp cheeks and blood-stained knees. At long last Hermione found her voice. 

"Ron?" she asked timidly, having no control over the tears that were still flowing. He nodded and then knelt down with not a trace of his usual clumsiness. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, his fingertips briefly touching her shin. "What happened?"

She could only stare at him. Was he for real? Was it concern she saw in his eyes?

"I . . . don't know . . ." she stammered. "Where do you come from?"

"If only I would know," Ron snorted with a trace of his familiar wryness. He ran a hand through his copper hair, looking rather helpless. "I never thought it would work like that -- but then I had no idea how it should work in the first place. But this is a weird place."

It was too much. Weary, Hermione closed her eyes and felt the wall behind her swaying. She wanted to hear nothing more, wanted simply too shut her senses to all and everything around her. During all this nightmare she'd felt like falling; she wouldn't mind now if she hit the ground and all was finally silent. 

But then the twisting stopped miraculously. Suddenly, the weight that had bore down on her mind was gone, as were the constricting chains of despair. Blinking, she opened her eyes. Ron's face was above her, looking down at her with eyes that shone with sorrow and care. It took her a moment to realise that he held her. It was a strange feeling – his warmth permeating through her chilled skin and the safety his embrace radiated. It felt even stranger when his hand carefully shoved away a loose strand of her hair. 

"I got you," he whispered with a softness she'd never met in him before. 

"Is it gone?" she breathed. "The shadow -- is it gone? I can't sense it."

Confusion wrinkled his brow at her words. "I don't know what you mean. There's shadows all about us."

But she couldn't see them -- wasn't there a more gentle light surrounding them? Weariness seeped into her limbs and since it seemed the only thing to do she leaned her head against his shoulder. It felt like he tucked her under his chin. Words drifted to her ear, sounding like, "I'm so glad I found you."

Why would he be glad? Hermione wondered. Why would he come to look for her at all? But she couldn't piece her thoughts together anymore. Through half-closed eyes she saw the cobbled walls of the vault and rivulets of dark water rippling down the stone, but it all grew dim. Everything withdrew from her becoming more and more remote. 

__

'No.' Hermione almost smiled. Not everything. Hesitantly she lifted a hand and let her fingers touch the collar of Ron's shirt. The fabric felt real, as did the warmth that prickled beneath her fingertips. He shifted slightly, moving her weight to lean even more on him. More comfortable and gently encircled by his presence, the rhythm of her breathing slowed as she snubbed her nose against his jumper. It was slightly rough wool with the deeply familiar scent of Ron.

"You need to wake up, Hermione," he said softly, lowering his mouth close to her hair. She could feel his breath on the tip of her ear, a gentle breeze that made her dizzy, somehow. Dimly, she thought she heard a voice calling from the distance.

"Hear?" said Ron. "That's Harry, he's waiting for us. We must wake up." He'd clasped her hand and his words drifted against her forehead, softly urging her. Hermione tried to obey them, but despite her effort, she felt her consciousness slip from her little by little. She felt her eyelids grow heavy and a great weakness came over her. She flagged, more and more, but still his body was there, a constant strength that enfolded her. And his voice, carrying through the haze of dizziness and guiding her like a lantern through night and fog. 

"Wake up, Hermione."

She clung to it. Savouring the sound.

"Wake up." 

****

Epilogue

Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to feel her surroundings. Warm, dry air, and a very fine smell of burning wood. A fire crackled. Someone yawned audibly. A woolen blanket felt rough where it touched her chin. And the hand that stroked her hair was so gentle that she wanted nothing more but to stay in this cocoon of safety forever. Not seeing, just hearing and feeling. Relishing in the fact that someone was with her, that she wasn't alone anymore.

"She looks better, don't you think?" A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she recognised the hesitant, smooth voice. Harry.

"Told you she would be fine." A second voice chimed in, but the cheerfulness was forced, horribly forced. Ron. 

"Of course I am fine. I have two knights in shining armour at my side." She could hear two people catch their breath. "Not that I needed saving, but still . . ." The flat-out lie made her voice trail off and she hoped it hadn't been too obvious.

Hermione opened her eyes, tried to smile and failed when she saw the looks on both of her best friends' faces. It lasted only split seconds before she could see the usual mask fall into place, the incredible worry and frailty replaced with nonchalance.

"Well, then I think we're out of service, Knight Potter. Move along. Let the noble queen get back to her dormitory, so we can finally have our much-needed sleep." Ron kept a straight face, but his eyes twinkled, belying his relief. Harry grinned and stifled a huge yawn.

"You are right, oh brave Weasley. We really should go to bed. The queen seems to be all right if she can wisecrack already."

When both boys rose, panic surged into Hermione's heart. They wouldn't . . . they couldn't . . . "No!" Instinctively, she reached for both Harry and Ron's hands as though they were the only lifeline she had, the only thing that held her here in the real life. Immediately, the masks dropped again, and Hermione was faced with a wave of apprehension coming from both Harry and Ron.

"Don't . . . I mean . . ." She trailed off, embarrassed. A blush climbed into her cheeks and she lowered her eyes, letting go of the boy's hands awkwardly fast.

"Do you want Ron or me to bring you up to your dormitory?" Harry asked gingerly, pushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead in an unusual display of tenderness. His eyes were full of concern.

"I reckon I could carry you," Ron said quietly, judging her weight by looking at her slim figure. "D'you . . . want me to?" Red eyebrows rose to greet the red hairline on his forehead.

No. Anything but. It was all she could do from shouting this out loud, hurting Ron with her bluntness. It didn't matter how well they meant, and how positively nice it would be to be carried back to her room, especially by Ron. But after they had seen her safely to bed, they would leave for their own dormitory and she would be alone again. 

All alone. 

Again.

She shivered.

"Are you cold? Should we bring more blankets? Some chocolate?" Ron sounded as desperate as Harry looked.

"It's not the cold." She moved a little on the couch and pulled her legs up to her chin. "I . . ."

"Hermione." Harry put a hand on her cheek, the careful, almost brotherly touch soothing her senses. He had calluses on the tips of his fingers from Quidditch practice, she realised. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. I'm fine." 

She felt Ron's weight dent the other end of the couch slightly and was distracted from Harry's calming touch. Ron was different than Harry; he had an urgency in his aura, something more impulsive which made her slightly nervous. Now sitting next to her, he clumsily poked her shoulder. Where Harry's touch had been natural, this was a tad forced. "Fess up, Miss Granger." 

"Can't." 

"Hermione." Harry again. Patient, careful, gentle. "Tell us."

"Please." It wasn't all too often that you heard such pleading from Ron Weasley. Not in a voice like this. Hermione looked up, surprised to find genuine concern in the green eyes just above her. No more clumsiness was to be found there. Just concern, and forthright protectiveness that made the faint echo of a blush creep back into her cheeks. 

Two pairs of green eyes looked at her, and both were unknowingly trying to outmatch the other in terms of anxiety.

"Promise you won't laugh?" she asked, her voice suddenly small.

And when both boys had nodded their heads and she was certain they would hold true to their word, she began.

It took a while to find the right words for the horrible things she had seen in her nightmare, for the feelings she hardly ever named. How hard it had been to suddenly accept that there was a place where she couldn't succeed with knowledge, where there was only irrationality and feelings.

A few times, she faintly heard the sound of Ron's knuckles cracking. His breathing was rather laboured, but he kept his hand on her arm, just where he had placed it when she had begun, and its warmth gave her the strength to go on.

Hermione finally trailed off, shaky, feeling horribly spent and tired. This had been like a confession. Like turning her insides out for both Harry and Ron to look at. She had opened herself completely, had told them things she had never even admitted to herself. This would have been the perfect ammunition for anyone who wanted to hurt her. But she didn't feel any regret. Her secrets were safe with those two. Safer than in Gringott's.

Her eyelids were beginning to droop, but she was fighting sleep with all her might, afraid of what would happen should she fall asleep again.

Over her head, she felt Ron and Harry exchange a few quick glances. Then Harry rose from his crouched position in front of the couch and sat down next to her. 

Ron rose as well and Hermione's stomach dropped. That was it? He was just leaving, without another word? He had been so helpful since she had woken up, and now he was returning to his old ogre-ly self? The thought hurt, and she was just about to force her eyes open to see where he had gone to when she felt him lift her head carefully, slide onto the couch, placing a pillow onto his lap and resting her head back onto it. Hermione tensed up and her eyes flew open, her whole body going rigid. But then his hand was on her shoulder again, drawing patterns on it in its lazy travel over her arm. The fireplace in front of them only added to the warmth climbing into her cheeks. It was a few moments until she could relax enough to ease her cramped limbs. Just then, Harry reached for her feet, pulled them onto his lap and spread the blanket over her. His hand, too, moved soothingly over her calf. She marvelled at his natural touch. The dark-haired boy who had never really received the love of parents was so much at ease at giving something very comforting and parental to her. She relaxed finally, going limp in their combined shelter.

"No more bad dreams tonight," Harry declared and gave her leg a little squeeze. "We may not be Sir Cardogan --" Despite the comfortable situation, Hermione couldn't help but snort at the mentioning of the picture-knight and Ron promptly swatted her on the arm (Oi, he's really not that bad, just … insane). "But I think we can chase away bad dreams. Are you up to it, brave Weasley?"

In a flurry of motion, she saw Ron's hand indicating a flourish from the corner of her eye. "I live but to serve." 

Harry snorted with disbelief. Hermione stifled a laugh at the insulted "harrumph" from Ron. But she could feel his chuckle shaking his body. "You're not supposed to insult your knights," he said indignantly, waggling a long freckled finger in front of her face.

"I wouldn't dare." There was not a trace of teasing in her voice. A slight pause, then: "Thank you."

There was nothing more to say. Those two words were lame and not nearly enough for the gratefulness she felt. They hung in the air awkwardly, too big and too small at the same time. But they were enough for the moment.

Harry looked at her for a long while, then averted his eyes when she saw him scrutinising her. Or rather, them. Hermione blushed furiously when she saw a small smile playing around Harry's mouth. 

Ron she couldn't see from her position on the couch. But she felt his hand drawing her closer to his warmth, until she could feel the back of her head resting against his hipbone. She basked in this new warmth and closed her eyes.

Well, this position would make sure that at least she would wake from his rumbling stomach in the morning. There was nothing awkward at all in the thought of spending the night like this. They were together, all three of them. The queen and her brave knights. A smile crept over her features when Ron's hand returned to her arm just as Harry's hand returned to her calf, both touches gentle yet different like night and day.

And right there, in that very moment, she knew that she had never before felt safer. Comfortably resting in the warmth of both of her best friends, she felt whole. And together. Connected, somehow.

Anything.

But no longer alone. 

__

finis


End file.
